


All the Ashes in my Wake

by emarosa



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec Lightwood-centric, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angels of Death, Bigotry & Prejudice, Grim Reapers, Happy Ending, M/M, Spirit World
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-02-23 21:32:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18710341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emarosa/pseuds/emarosa
Summary: Living in the veil wasn't very interesting for the most part. Reaping had been pretty uneventful these past few millennia, and Alec spent most of his day wandering and people-watching accompanied by his brother Ramiel.But then, Clary Fray happens, and his existence becomes chaotically enthralled with the business of Shadowhunters and Downworlders alike.





	1. From the Veil

Alec watched the scene before him with mild disinterest. A bus crash, killing dozens. Blood pooled and streaked all over the road, illuminated by flashing blue and red lights from emergency vehicles. Mundanes all over were yelling, screaming, a discord of sounds that was helping fuel the chaos around them. He walked around, assessing the action around him and deciding that this was Azrael's will. 

Meaning that he was not needed here. The souls would pass on by themselves. 

Sighing, he turned, and left. 

"I don't even know why you bother," his brother, Remiel, told him when he arrived back home. 

"Because, we aren't here for nothing. We serve a purpose," Alec replied, sitting next to Remi on the ground. Their home, if one could call it that, was a barren and abandoned psychiatric hospital from the late twentieth century. Every now and then they would get the occasional thrill-seeker as a visitor but were left alone for the most part. Even then, it wasn't like the mundanes could even see them. The veil could technically be considered another dimension that existed in parallel to that of the regular world, but its only residents were the reapers and tortured souls that refused to move on. 

"We  _used_ to serve a purpose, brother. We've been forgotten, Azrael has moved on from caring about us," Remi spat. The older of the two of them, Remiel had spent a good portion of his time resenting their father. "Why do you think we're still here, and not in Heaven with the rest of our cousins? We've had this conversation before, Alexander. We're not worthy of being anything but the ant crushed by the heel of Heaven's boot."

Alec agreed, but kept quiet as Remiel got up and started sorting through jars of herbs he had collected on a shelf. He despised being a reaper, the designation having lost its honor long ago. They used to make sure that no one interfered with the heavenly timeline, making sure no one tried to evade their death when it was their time, threatening the stability of human existence. 

Nowadays, the number of mundanes that actually practiced such alchemy were nonexistent. And even though all the reapers had done as they had been asked, once their mission was fulfilled they were abandoned, left in the veil to rot for all eternity. 

The Nephilim got better treatment, and they were part-mundane. Alec was purely angelic in nature, just not the right kind. Not a direct son or daughter of God, but a grandson instead. Crafted from the wings of Azrael, the Angel of Death. 

The few angels that Alec had come across in his lifetime had mocked them for it. "You can tell what they are," they would say, "by just looking at them."

He knew he was hideous, but it had hurt every time. It wasn't his fault his wings weren't white, that he didn't have an aura of golden glow. It wasn't his fault that despite being an angel, he didn't look heavenly in the slightest.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by something he hadn't felt in a long time. A dull, pulsing ache in his chest. A few feet away, the shattering of glass could be heard.

"Something's wrong," he spoke aloud, turning to look at Remiel, who was staring at the shards of the jar he had just dropped. 

Remi grimaced, cleaning up his mess with a snap of his fingers. "Someone's trying to summon a reaper."

-

"Getting your memories back won't be easy," Magnus Bane, the High Warlock of Brooklyn, told Clary Fray.

"Why not?" Jace spat, already impatient.

"Because, they were thrown into the veil. It was either that or feed them to a memory demon, you should be grateful."

"Where's the veil?" Clary interjected.

Isabelle turned to her, a look in her eyes that Clary couldn't pinpoint. "The veil is the metaphysical realm. It's full of restless spirits, and only an idiot would try and get anything from it."

"Restless spirits, and reapers," Magnus said, his expression falling dark.

"Reapers? Like, Grim Reapers?" Clary couldn't believe the words that were coming out of her mouth.

"The mundane depiction of them is a little... inaccurate, let's say," the warlock replied, "reapers are the offspring of the Angel of Death, and their wrath will bring about the apocalypse if you're not careful."

Everyone was silent for a moment, but it was Jace that finally spoke up.

"We came here to get her memories back, and we aren't leaving without them. She wouldn't be in this mess if it wasn't for you."

Magnus looked nervous, but it lasted for a mere second before he smiled brightly. "Very well. Let's get started, shall we?"

Watching as he gathered various ingredients for his summoning spell, he instructed all of them that they shouldn't beat around the bush, and should be very careful with their words. 

"I've only heard about reapers here and there in my lifetime, and they're nasty creatures. Bloodthirsty and quick to violence."

Once everything was ready, they stood around in a circle, linking hands. Magnus began to chant in Sumerian, and once he finished, nothing happened. They all stood there, looking at each other awkwardly, waiting for something to happen. Isabelle opened her mouth, about to say something, when the lights flickered and a gust of wind came through the room, knocking things over and scattering loose pieces of paper. 

When the reaper appeared before her, outside of their circle, it took everything within Clary to not scream. He was tall and thin, wearing a long black robe that looked too big on him. His dark eyes were sunken, and the skin on his face looked like it was stretching over his bone structure. The huge, black wings that spanned behind him were just as scrawny, bones clearly outlined. He raised a hand, and Clary realized he may as well be a skeleton with fingers that spindly. 

"Out with it, then," a voice behind her spoke, and Clary jumped, yanking her hands out of Jace and Magnus' grasp. Spinning around, she was alarmed to find a second reaper, looking just as meager as the first. The only difference, she realized, is that this one had bright blue eyes, and his black hair was cut a bit shorter. 

"I, uh," Clary stammered, "I want my memories back." 

"That's barely our problem," blue eyes said. 

"Her memories are in the veil," Magnus began to explain, and the first reaper broke into a laugh. It was a loud and empty sound, and sent shivers down her spine.

"What do you say, Alec? You looking to help out a _Nephilim_?" He said the last word with such hatred that Clary felt a sting of regret for going through with this summoning. 

"Depends on what they're offering in exchange, Remiel," Alec answered, "You should also note that nothing of monetary value means anything to us."

Silence fell upon the room once more. 

"I have an idea." Remiel smiled. "Why do you need your memories so desperately?"

"To save my mom. She was kidnapped."

"By whom?"

"Valentine, my father-"

"Excellent! We'll give you your memories back, but we want in on your hunt for Valentine," Remiel offered. Alec rolled his eyes, as if expecting these antics. 

"Why?" Jace asked, doing nothing to hide how suspicious he thought the proposal was. 

Alec walked around them, going to stand by the other reaper's side. "Easy, we're bored." 

"Okay," Clary agreed.

Alec smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, a deal's a deal. Shall we?" 


	2. The Hunt

"So, how exactly are you going to get my memories back?" Clary asked the two reapers. There were all seated in Magnus' living room, and the bright and eccentric vibes of the whole apartment made the bare-boned creatures look more than out of place.

Remiel cleared his throat, making intense eye contact with her. She unconsciously straightened her posture, his dark brown eyes boring into hers. She began to sway a bit in her seat, the room spinning and her stomach twisting in knots. Bile burned as it ran up her throat, and she desperately tried to swallow it down. 

Then, everything went black. 

-

When she opened her eyes once more, she was laid across the couch, Jace pressing a cold cloth to her forehead. 

"Are you okay?"

Clary groaned, obviously, she wasn't, she had literally just passed out. She went to sit up, and it felt like someone had taken an ax to her brain. Gasping, she brought a hand up to clutch at her hand, and Jace shot up from where he had been kneeling, hands coming up and fumbling as he held them out to her, trying to figure out how to be of any help. 

Remembering what had just gone down she realized something more significant that the throbbing pain.

"I remember," she gasped, "I remember everything."

Jace's face broke out into a grin, and she was drawn to the sound of Izzy chuckling gratefully behind him. Looking at her surroundings, she found that Magnus was standing off to the side awkwardly, drink in hand. 

Getting up from the couch, taking it slowly this time, she felt the throbbing slowly dissipate. She walked over to Magnus and pulled him into a hug.

"Thank you, Magnus. Not just for your help, but for being so kind to me for all those years."

"Anything for you, biscuit."

Someone cleared their throat, and everyone turned to face the reapers. They were no longer wearing the long, black robes. Instead, they had changed into black t-shirts and jeans. They looked like shadowhunters, minus the runes. 

Their wings were also gone, and it made her curious as to how that worked. Were they tucked away? Made invisible? Would it be rude to ask?

"This Valentine man. Who has your mother and wants the Mortal Cup. Let's go get him," Alec stated. 

Clary pulled away from Magnus. "We don't really know where he is at the moment."

"He's your father, is it not? We can track him." Alec looked confused, like this was obvious. 

"He has his anti-tracking rune activated, he's not stupid," Jace scoffed. 

"Anti-tracking rune? So you can't feel where his soul is located?" Remiel butted in, "By the Angel, Alec, did you think I can use that to make Afriel leave me the hell alone?" 

Izzy took a step forward, raising her hand in a stop gesture, clearly as confused as everyone else in the room. "Feel where his soul is located? Do you have a tracking spell you use to do that?"

"No. We just feel," Alec explained.

"Do you constantly feel the presence of all the souls on Earth? How do you tell them all apart?" Izzy asked, taking charge.

"We don't always feel them. It's just like, like air," Alec reasoned, "but if we need to find a specific one, we can just think of them and know where they are. We can't just play guessing games when going to reap people."

"So, you aren't just attracted to people when they're dying?"

"No?" Alec's face made it seem like this was obvious information. Clearly, along the line, shadowhunters and reapers had gotten a lot confused. 

"We don't just reap souls, you know. We're here to keep the timeline intact," Remiel brought up. 

"The timeline?"

"Y'know, people bringing the dead back to life, mundanes trying to solve immortality, the like. You guys protect the shadow world, we protect the fabric of space and time."

There was silence across the room as they all tried to process this information. Magnus tipped his glass back, finishing his drink in one swig. 

The warlock made a move to sit down, crossing his legs. "You haven't reaped in awhile, have you, pretty boy?"

Alec smirked at the compliment. "Nope, hence the boredom. Humanity has really calmed down these past few centuries. Trust me when I say there is nothing exciting happening in the veil right now." 

"So what have you been doing all this time?" Magnus continued. 

"Sitting around and watching the world burn," Alec joked. "My siblings typically get into spats with each other, so a lot of time is spent either interfering in quarrels or hoping across the pond to avoid them like the plague."

Clary piped up, "Your siblings? So, you're all related to each other?"

Remiel squinted at her in disbelief. "You're new to all of this, aren't you? All reapers are the children of Azrael, angel of death. Unlike you precious Nephilim we are a disgrace in the eyes of the angels. We were molded out of the ashes of Hell and Azrael's divine feathers. We don't belong to anyone, not the Shadow World and most certainly not Heaven. Yes, we're all related to each other. I expect this type of behavior from mundanes. But Nephilim? We are more related to the angels than you are, and it's pathetic how little you all know about us."

"Hey!" Jace yelled, "Like you don't know the first thing about shadowhunters."

"Well, let's see," Alec snarled, "you begin training the second you can walk. You have to pass a bunch of tests to get your Angelic Rune. You have a big book about all the other runes known to you, and you drawn them on yourself with your stele. You act all high and mighty, and have been stamping all over downworlders since the beginning of your time. You believe you were blessed by the angel Raziel, but you were created as pawns, just like us. You're just here to do the work they don't want their hands to get dirty with, and now you've been abandoned and left with no guidance."

"Are you going to help me find my mom or not?" Clary had not intended to rub them the wrong way, but clearly the reapers felt a certain way about Nephilim. It was probably best to get this over with as soon as possible for all parties involved. 

"We will. You cannot fly, so how should we travel?" Remiel asked. 

"Right now?" Clary knew they could track him, but this was so sudden. 

"Yes, now."

"I can create a portal, if you'd like," Magnus offered. 

Jace walked to the center of the room. "We need a plan first. He's dangerous."

"To you, maybe," Alec sassed, "it's literally impossible to kill me. Believe me, I've tried."

Magnus startled, looking at Alec with deep concern. 

"Do you wish to kill Valentine, or do you want him alive?" Alec asked, ignoring Magnus' reaction. 

"Alive. He must pay for his crimes," Clary clarified. 

"Alive it is. Magnus, if you would?" the reaper made a swirling motion with his hand, and the warlock seemed to understand, summoning a portal for them. 

Right before walking through it, Remiel turned to face her. "Are you sure you want him alive? It really would be more fun if you chose otherwise."


	3. The Storm

They landed in some sort of rundown laboratory. Remiel and Alec didn't even bother to look around before striding forward, obviously sure of where they were going. They rounded a few corners, before finding Valentine standing over a suspended Jocelyn, muttering to himself. Alec cleared his throat, and the man spun around in shock.

Taking in the grotesque features of the reapers, he almost didn't notice the Nephilim standing behind them. 

But, before he could react, Remiel snapped his fingers, and Valentine passed out on the spot. 

"That was way too easy," Jace protested.

"Duh," Alec said, "Like a pesky mortal could ever be a worthy challenge."

Clary rushed forward to her mom, paying no mind to everyone else's antics. 

"Mom! Mom!" she tried to rouse her to no avail. 

"She's not going to wake up from that," Remiel stated, stepping forward and placing a bony hand on Jocelyn's forehead. 

Watching him, Clary held in a shriek as she watched the reaper's eyes bleed into a cloudy grey color. It was like there was smoke swirling from inside his mind, churning like an incoming storm. 

Jocelyn let out a gasp, and the smoke dissipated, Remiel's eyes returning to their dark brown color. 

"That was way less interesting than it was supposed to be," he commented to Alec, who hummed in agreement.

"Well, what else do you have to do today?" he turned to ask the Nephilim, ignoring Clary's loud and heartfelt reunion with her mother.

Jace scoffed, "What do you mean, what else? Going after Valentine wasn't just some measly chore!"

"Hmm. Well, guess it's time to go back to New York."

-

As they stood outside the Institute, there was a struggle to find the right parting words to say to the ethereal creatures that had helped them immensely. 

"Well, back off to the veil it seems. Be warned, you're lucky you didn't get one of our other siblings, they would've gotten a kick out of a Nephilim asking for help and probably would've decapitated you for a trophy," Remiel said. 

Jace and Izzy paled, hoping that wasn't how this goodbye was going to go.

"Actually, Remy, can I talk to you?" Alec turned to his brother.

They parted from the others, making sure to get out of their hearing range.

"You're staying, aren't you?" 

Alec weakly smiled. "This is the most interesting thing I've gotten to experience in centuries. I can't believe you're so eager to go back."

"The veil, despite its blandness, is my home. Our home. You're young, and I know you want a taste of what humanity has to offer. But, be careful, little brother. Because the Nephilim will never understand you, and may not ever fully accept you for what you are. Don't stay away for too long, or I worry you will get hurt. And, never forget your purpose."

"Protect the heavenly timeline," he answered, "how could I ever forget?"

Remy gave his arm a squeeze. "Be very careful, then, how you walk."

Alec smiled, continuing, "Not as unwise but as wise."

"Making the most of every opportunity."

"Because the days are evil."

And, with the flap of wings, his brother had vanished from his sight. It didn't matter if Alec didn't see him again for years, for that was nothing on his immortal life. 

He walked back over to the Shadowhunters, who seemed very confused. "I've decided to stay. To see what your mortal life is like firsthand."

It looked like they wanted to protest, but did no such thing. With a nod, he followed them into the Institute, the desolate church they called their home.

-

Victor Aldertree, as well as the multitude of other Clave representatives they sent, were shocked speechless upon seeing Alec in the flesh. But, like their inferior counterparts, had no argument against him staying among them. If anything, allowing him to stay was their way of expressing gratitude for capturing Valentine Morgenstern. 

He was given a tour of the place, and then shown a vacant dormitory he could claim as his own. He didn't bother mentioning how he really didn't need sleep, as he was excited at the prospect of having his own bedroom. One that had an actual bed inside of it. 

He was sat on the mattress now, running his fingers through his right wing, straightening the feathers and removing some of the molt. It was that time of year, he supposed. 

There was a knock at his door, which was followed by Isabelle poking her head in. "It's dinnertime."

"I don't eat," was his automatic response, resulting in Izzy stumbling over her next words.

"Well, I uh, is there anything else I can get you?"

He pondered for a moment, before shaking his head. 

"I believe I will go for a walk."

And he did. It wasn't much different than going for a walk any other day, except down it was easier to spot those with the Sight, seeing as their eyes spun in their heads when they saw him strolling about. Which, ouch, Alec considered himself much easier on the eyes than the majority of demons out there. Seriously, if not for the wings he would look just like any other Downworlder or Nephilim.

Well, that and if he had just a bit more meat on his bones. But that was the point, Azrael had made a point of making his children appalling. If they looked too angelic, too beautiful, then who would fear them? Their duty was to police rule-breakers, ensure that people were discouraged from doing something to require their presence. 

Which was unfair, if you asked Alec. Angels were glorious, and their wrath was just as terrifying, especially since they were so respected for their power. They were feared just as much, maybe even more. 

And they didn't need to look revolting in order to be that way.

He somehow ended up at the High Warlock's loft, where he had been summoned earlier this journey. Flying up into the apartment, Magnus didn't even startle at his sudden presence.

"I was wondering if you would come back."

"I've decided to stay in town for a bit longer," Alec said. 

Magnus grinned. "Well, I'm glad you did. Drink?"

"No, I don't, sorry."

"What, drink alcohol?" Magnus inquired.

"Drink, in general. Don't eat either."

Magnus looked him up and down. "Obviously not. Have you ever even tried to?" 

Alec was confused at the question, unsure of how to respond.

With a wave of his fingers, Magnus conjured up a plate of meats and cheeses, as well as a glass of wine. "Sit," he ordered, motioning to his sofa. 

Alec did, tucking in his wings as the warlock sat down next to him. 

"Open up," Magnus urged, plucking up some parcels of food with a hand and bringing it close to Alec's mouth. Not wanting to be one to disappoint, he obeyed, taking a hesitant bite.

And, wow. Why had he not tried this before?

He allowed himself to be hand-fed until the plate was bare, and then took the glass of wine from Magnus' outstretched hand. He was less hesitant this time as he took a sip, grimacing a bit at the bittersweet taste before deciding it wasn't half bad. 

Magnus waved his hand once more, this time making fresh fruit appear out of thin air. Not wanting to wait, Alec grabbed a bit right away, moaning in appreciation at the pleasantly sweet flavor. 

"Who knows," Magnus said, "Maybe we'll put some meat on those bones after all."


	4. angel of small death

The Institute was a thrilling place, bustling with continuous commotion. Alec loved it. He hadn't been engaged like this in centuries. 

He didn't even mind all the passing Nephilim and their stares of morbid curiosity. Although, he did partially mind the glances of mild terror. If he was going to do the harm, he obviously would've done it by now. It would be otherwise pointless for him to waste so much time sitting around.

"Alexander, Consul Malachi is here to see you," Aldertree announced from across the room. He could tell the interim Head of Institute didn't particularly like him, weary to come too close. Striding over, he made a show of stretching his wings out to their full length, as a reminder of what he was. Of his kind's history with the Clave.

Aldertree led him to his office. The Consul was already there, as well as other Clave members unfamiliar to him scattered throughout the room. 

"Alexander," Malachi started, "firstly, we would like to thank you for your help in the capture of Valentine Morgenstern."

Alec shrugged in acknowledgement, looking around the room absentmindedly. 

"We also would like to discuss your expressed interest in staying here at the New York Institute."

"Firstly, call me Alec," he mocked the Consul's pompous tone and attitude, "secondly, what is there to discuss?"

Malachi ignored his jest. "Well, it's not everyday that one of Azrael's reapers gets involved in shadowhunters' affairs. We figured you couldn't wait to get back to the Veil with the rest of your kind, as your brother did."

"Nothing has been happening in the Veil for centuries, and you already know as much. Besides, as my brother helped prove, we're much more effective at handling trivial matters. You should be more than eager for my offered assistance. Free of charge, might I add."

"So, you want nothing in return?" Malachi seemed genuinely confused, bordering on cautious. 

Alec hummed, finally meeting his eye. "Precisely. I just wish to help with your ongoing hunt of demons. I've also gotten involved in some of the Downworlders' affairs, and there's nothing you can say or do to keep me from continuing to do such."

"The Downworlders? Such as?" one of the present Clave members interjected.

"Magnus Bane, the High Warlock of Brooklyn. He's quite... magical." Alec grinned at the thought of the cat-eyed warlock. 

There was a flash of disgust on Malachi's face, horribly concealed. Alec seemed to have hit a soft spot. Of course, leave it to the leader of the Nephilim to have a hatred for those with demon blood. 

"Very well,"  Malachi said, "just know that you will still need to report to the current Head of Institute. We can't have you running completely rampant and disregarding the Accords left and right if you wish to work with us."

Alec scoffed. "The Accords don't apply to me in the slightest. Huge oversight on your part. Seeing as neither your kind nor the downworlders thought to include reapers in the Accords, I will be doing whatever I please. Need I remind you that there is nothing in your armory that could give me as much as a paper cut. Try ordering me around, I dare you. I report to no one but myself. You can't make me leave, or you would've already. I'll be considerate of your fragile political relations, but the Heavens have entrusted for millennia that my judgment is fair and just. I act on behalf of the Angels, and your kind needs to learn to respect that."

He could barely contain his fury, but his calm demeanor had struck the mortals in the room with obvious terror. They hadn't even seen the full extent of his powers, and if they were lucky it wouldn't have to come to that. 

In all honesty, he was just tired of the Clave constantly looking down on those who weren't exclusively Nephilim. While Alec was here, he needed to change that mindset. He needed to knock them off their high horse for once in their godforsaken lives. 

"Of course, my apologies," Malachi forced out, as if it pained him to say so. "We simply wish for this to be a peaceful cooperation. We wish to avoid unnecessary tensions."

Because all they knew of reapers were the stories they told to misbehaving children, thinly veiled horror stories to serve as warnings to better behave.

They didn't fear demons. Alec was the monster that had hid under their beds at night. 

-

Watching the shadowhunters in action, despite how much effort it took them, was a thing of interest to Alec. How they drew their angelic power from runes burned into their skin instead of having it readily available to them. How they needed weapons forged with angelic grace to aid them in battle. 

Of course, all by themselves they were still quite powerful. Fighting came naturally to them, etched into their genetic blueprints. They moved with practiced fluidity, in a way that made it all seem theatrically effortless. 

It was also fun to see how their own individual personalities expressed themselves in their unique fighting styles. Jace was a hothead, choosing to act before thinking things through, aggressive and instinctive. 

Isabelle made up for his lack of discretion, analyzing the situation before her, quick to choose the best choice of action. She was elegant with the whip, fierce and ruthless against those that opposed her. 

Clary was still very clearly trying to figure herself out. Hesitant at first, standing at the edge of the fight. When she finally joined, it was like watching a newborn deer wobble as it learned to walk for the first time. There was always a hint of hesitation in her movements, even if it was just for a millisecond. Clary still didn't fully trust herself to be effective in her strikes, and she left herself open to attack on more than one occasion. 

Jace, clearly enamored, kept switching from showing off for her, to having to leap in and defend her from the demons ready to rip her throat out with their claws. It was both entertaining and ridiculous. This was a fight, which could be life-or-death for any involved, and yet Jace chose to be the typical heteronormative male and make stupid decisions to try and impress the woman of his affections. 

It would be better for everyone if he just told her he liked her and stopped acting so emotionally constipated all the time. Actions could speak louder than words, but right now they were saying that Jace was careless with his life, literally and emotionally. 

Alec rolled his eyes. Men. They really hadn't changed one bit, over the course of humanity.

When the last shax demon was finally brought to its final resting place, Alec stood up from where he had been leaning against the alley wall. 

"So considerate of you to help us," Jace grumbled, and Alec sent a beaming smile his way. 

"Anytime."

-

Magnus nearly spat out his drink. "Sorry, you said  _that_ to Consul Malachi? The dude's a real douche, trust me, but I don't think anyone's ever put him in his place like that."

Alec had been drawn back to the warlock's loft at the end of the day, his internal excuse being he was simply going for the food, and the company of someone that shared his inherent dislike of Nephilim. 

"I couldn't help it! He made it way too easy for me to take a swipe at him, I simply couldn't resist the temptation."

Magnus nodded in mock understanding, "of course. Anyone that's had to look at his smug face can sympathize."

Alec took another bite of the savory satay that had been summoned for him. He considered not even returning to the Institute in the morning, wishing he could waste his time spending it in Magnus' presence. But, he couldn't intrude, as he hadn't been offered such a choice. Magnus was a busy man, and Alec had already shown up to his apartment twice uninvited.

Of course, Magnus hadn't seemed to mind very much, either time. Maybe spending more time with the warlock wasn't so unlikely. 


	5. all you have is your fire

The next few weeks continued about the same. Alec would accompany the shadowhunters through the streets of New York on their patrols, either watching them in action or actively participating. It wasn't as exciting doing the latter, as the fight would end in mere seconds, the lowly demons no match for Alec. 

And then, he would end the night at Magnus Bane's Brooklyn loft, eating exquisite foods and chasing them with divine conversations that would sometimes last long into the night. 

All the eating had effects on him that he never would've predicted. It was such a subtle difference at first that he didn't even notice it himself, until one day he looked in the mirror and realized how much he had changed. 

No longer a ghastly skeleton, Alec's face was beginning to fill out. He was evolving from a gangling stick to something more like broad shoulders and overall appearing to have more meat on him. Even his wings were reaping the benefits, looking sturdier and feathers more glossy. 

It had some effect on the shadowhunters as well. The only difference between them and him now was his wings and lack of runes, otherwise he could've been any other Nephilim. 

It was an interesting discovery, the fact that simply eating mundane food could make him less of the ugly duckling that was his natural reaper appearance. Especially considering that he didn't even need food to survive or to quell any hunger, it simply was something he did for entertainment purposes. And, well, it gave him an excuse to spend more time with his chosen company, who seemed to enjoy expanding his palate with each meal. 

"Are reapers able to be marked with runes?" Clary asked out of the blue. 

Alec hummed, unsure. "Technically I'm angelic, so it probably wouldn't hurt. I'm not demonic either, despite popular belief."

She pulled her stele out of her pocket, twirling it in her fingers, her offer unspoken. Alec nodded. If anything, it would be an interesting experiment. He held out his arm, watching with mild fascination as the redhead drew, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. 

The burning sensation tickled a bit, and when it was done, Alec felt no different than before. 

"It's the soundless rune, if you were curious," she explained. 

They then carried on the rest of their day like normal, neither of them sure of what to make of this new information. 

That with each passing day, it became clear that Alec really wasn't that much different from the Nephilim that feared him so much. That reapers were really only set apart by the fact that they were immortal and invincible. 

Which, you know, minor details and all that. 

At some point throughout the week, Clary snuck him a stele of his own, which he thought was ironic but also thoughtful of her. Even if he would never admit it, the strange and careless girl was growing on him. Especially considering that she was the fastest to accept him for what he was, given the fact that she was still so new to the shadow world. 

Magnus, for Angel knows what reason, had a Grey Book of his own. Again, and Alec would never admit it, but he may or may not have spent an absurd amount of time flipping through it and learning various runes. For curiosity's sake, nothing else. 

Magnus was an enigma that Alec was certain he would never figure out. The man had such a vast and unpredictable past, full of countless adventures, rises and falls. While Alec was not afraid to hold back to when it came to his own life story, he felt so boring in comparison. He felt that he didn't deserve it when Magnus would hang on to his every word, and even more so when he would later relay that information back to Alec at a later time, showing he had committed Alec's words to memory. 

"So, what, alchemy just died away? There hasn't been any crazed warlock or mundane in recent years trying to bring it back?" 

"No warlock would ever need alchemy anyways, they're already immortal. A few are wannabe necromancers, but their vision of the dead brought back to life are so far from the real deal that we aren't called to interfere. And mundanes nowadays just see it as a bunch of fiction, those that preach about the glories of eternal life and curing all disease are seen as daydreamers and lunatics. Trust me when I saw I wish some were dumb enough to try it sometime, at least then my life would have some meaning to it."

Magnus frowned at that, his face scrunching up in a way that Alec totally didn't find adorable. "Your life does have meaning, Alexander. It doesn't need to rely on what outsiders may or may not need from you, that's something that you get to decide. There's a reason you decided to stay instead of going back to the veil. You're free to choose your own path, as scary as that may seem."

The two of them were sat next to each other on the same couch. The room was suddenly unbearably hot, and Alec could feel the sweat starting to gather at the base of his neck.

"You really believe that?" 

"Of course. Alexander, you are such a wonderful and passionate being. I wouldn't keep letting you come back if I didn't otherwise enjoy your company."

At Magnus' words, he could feel himself unconsciously lean in, his eyes quickly darting to the warlock's lips and back up again. 

Magnus seemed to catch the idea. Leaning in to join him, the second their lips met, all else was lost to him. There wasn't anything else that mattered except for this moment. Screw Azrael, screw the Nephilim, everything in Alec's existence had been leading up to this moment. Angels, he wished he had left the veil sooner. He would have, if he would've known he had this waiting for him on the other side. 

He didn't think he could ever go back now. 


End file.
